AN INNOCENT WISH--Little
did modern day Hillary Logan realize when she made her innocent wish for a
happy marriage, that she’d be waking up in bed next to a handsome nobleman--in
1815. Struggling to adjust to Regency England, she teaches the dashing marquess
a thing or two about love and “a woman’s place.”

A PLEASANT DIVERSION--Seeking a diversion from the ongoing horrors of the
Napoleonic Wares, Simon Altmont, looks forward to a liaison with the attractive
woman in his bed. She would make a perfect new mistress! He soon learns just
how different his mysterious Mrs. Logan really is. Has the Marquess of Darver
finally met his match?

Scene Set-Up:

On assignment in the past,
Serenity attends her first “haut ton” ball. As she studies the notorious rake,
Nicholas Wycliffe, Lord Brockton, she finds him studying her.

Excerpt:

Hillary’s cheeks radiated
heat. She knew her face had to be the color of her nightshirt--shocking pink.
She was standing there half-naked in front of the most desirable man she’d ever
come across--and a stranger to boot.

She fingered the long line
of buttons at her bodice. “I wish you’d hurry. I’m uncomfortable enough as it
is without you eyeballing me.”

Her frankness surprised her.
She shrugged it off as a case of the nerves. Who, in her position, wouldn’t be
nervous? Who, in her position, wouldn’t be nervous?

The man unsuccessfully
turned his laughter into a cough, and then he gave her that lopsided grin
again. “Certainly, my dear. Although I must say I have never heard such a
quaint manner of speaking. I find the term ‘eyeballing’ quite expressive, to be
sure.”

She tapped her foot. How
dare he make fun of her speech when he sounded so... so British!

His eyes gleamed with
mischief. “And such unusual night attire. I have never seen the like. Not that
you do not look fetching.”

“Impatient, m’dear?” He
completed his task and, properly covered by the robe, sauntered over to the
door. “May I suggest you take position behind the door? When it comes to
females, Finch can be disapproving. He does not understand that women can be
necessary at times.”

The man knew he was
infuriating. He knew it. Hillary frowned but followed his suggestion.
His gaze moved over her bare feet, lower limbs, knees, and partially exposed
thighs. She tried to pretend his scrutiny didn’t bother her but if her face got
any hotter, she’d scorch her eyebrows.

He
chuckled. “By the bye, shall I have a bottle of champagne sent up? To celebrate
our good fortune? Or rather, my good
fortune.”

She balled her fists. What
she wouldn’t give to floor the man. But she was in no position to argue.

Eyeing her combat-ready
hands, he raised one eyebrow. “No champagne? Perhaps you do not favor things
that are French?”

“If you please.” She spat
out the words.

Hi grinned, opened the door,
and called out into the corridor. “Finch. Finch, old boy, are you up?”

Hillary heard a shuffling
noise down the hallway. The shuffling stopped at the door. “Did you require me,
my--”

“My good man,” her bedfellow
interrupted. “I have a commission for you this early morn. I have an unexpected
companion with me--a charming one, I might add. It seems she has misplaced her
husband, Jim.”

He turned to her and used
the door as a barrier to hide her from Finch. “Jim what, my dear?” he asked,
not bothering to hide his amusement.

His eyes crinkled merriment
at her predicament. Damn the man! Hillary concentrated on keeping her voice
cool. “Jim Logan,” she said succinctly.

With his back to Finch, her
tormentor curved a finger under her chin. “I have been remiss. We have not
introduced ourselves. Simon Altmont, at your service.”

She met
his gaze and ignored the fluttery sensations that zigzagged down her backbone. Hoping she showed no emotion, she
raised her chin. “And I’m Mrs.Logan.”

His hearty laugh shook those massive shoulders.
Releasing her chin, he bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear.”

Finch’s shuffle announced
that he still waited. Mr. Altmont turned back to him. “I need you to ferret out
this Jim Logan--discreetly, of course. If you have no success, then you must
find some suitable clothes for Mrs. Logan to wear.”

As if that wasn’t
embarrassing enough, her stomach decided to roar. Even Finch must have heard
it.

“Oh, and Finch,” Mr. Altmont
drawled, “do bring Mrs. Logan and me some breakfast. We have worked up an
appetite!”

Speechless, she stared at
him. Had she heard right? How dare he imply....

In that moment, there was
nothing Hillary wanted to do more than to murder the man.